


bonnie lassie, o

by wemighthavebeenqueens



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, MORE tenderness and lamplight, Singing, and other beautiful things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 16:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wemighthavebeenqueens/pseuds/wemighthavebeenqueens
Summary: A rare quiet night, a rare beautiful song, and some sweet human connection <3





	bonnie lassie, o

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyotr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyotr/gifts).

> I wrote this all in a rush but I'm quite pleased with how it turned out! It's dedicated to Mal who inspired it, and to The Corries for singing Kelvin Grove so beautifully <3

It is a colder night than it has been in recent nights. Harry leans against the bulkhead, the cluttered surroundings familiar, and cups his hands around the faint warmth of his oil lamp. His heart is happy, though- Silna kneels across from him, her hair shining in the lamplight as she bends over a small piece of wood she’s been whittling. Her slender hands are surprisingly adept- a few nights ago, he watched her carve a tiny wooden bear in a matter of minutes. Right now, he can’t tell what she’s working on yet, but it doesn’t matter- she is here and whole and at peace in his quiet, steady presence. 

He basks in the near-silence for a moment, hearing the chatter of men in the distance, the ever-present creaking of the ice outside. Then, to his own surprise, the delicate happiness he feels brings music to his lips- he’s humming, and has barely noticed it- just soft humming, just under his breath. Silna glances up at him, a tiny smile quirking her lips.  
It’s been ages since he sang- but he’s here, in the uncertain dark, and she’s in front of him, and he’s fleetingly happy- so he turns the humming into song, feeling his way around the words of an old, old song he remembers from so long ago. 

It’s a song of home, of Scotland, a quiet, longing ballad that’s almost a lullaby. Stumbling uncertainly into the first words of the song, he is suddenly reminded of the heather and the mist, and he could nearly cry.

Let us haste to Kelvin Grove, bonnie lassie, O,  
Through its mazes let us rove, bonnie lassie, O:  
Where the rose in all her pride,  
Paints the hollow dingle side,  
Where the midnight fairies glide, bonnie lassie, O.

He realizes, with a sudden pang, he’s thinking of her as he sings. Bonnie lassie, aye. She looks lovely enough in the firelight.  
His voice is rough and unpracticed, with the simple cadence of having often sung folk songs with friends. It’s good enough for a curious audience of one, and he feels unselfconscious as she regards him with great interest.

Let us wander by the mill, bonnie lassie, O,  
To the cove beside the rill, bonnie lassie, O;  
Where the glens rebound the call  
Of the roaring waters' fall,  
Through the mountain's rocky hall, bonnie lassie, O.

The words, beautiful and true, bring the scene to life- unlike the frozen wasteland around them, the creaking ancient timbers, Harry feels in the presence of the leaping mill falls, the blooming bluebells, a rare brilliant blue sky. The words are foreign and mean nothing to Silna, but listening to him sing, she can sense the homecoming in the verses, the deep emotion they hold, the beauty of the song formed in his mouth. She is entranced.

O Kelvin banks are fair, bonnie lassie, O,  
When the summer we are there, bonnie lassie, O;  
There the May-pink's crimson plume  
Throws a soft, but sweet perfume  
Round the yellow banks of broom, bonnie lassie, O.

As he reaches the third verse, Harry is aware of another sound, and is so stunned he nearly stops his song. Silna has caught on to the pattern of the song, and she’s humming along, following his cadence with surprising alacrity. He smiles so big at her, his heart feels fit to burst. Bonnie lassie, o! She smiles back, a little shy, and tilts her head some, to follow along.

Though I dare not call thee mine, bonnie lassie, O,  
As the smile of fortune's thine, bonnie lassie, O;  
Yet with fortune on my side,  
I could stay thy father's pride,  
And win thee for my bride, bonnie lassie, O.

In some other, more beautiful world, Harry would entertain the thought of winning her for a bride. This is not that world, and the thought does not cross his mind. Some other emotion, soft and deep, wells up in him instead, as he sings. If he were paying more attention, he’d realize how much he is in love with her.

But the frowns of fortune lour, bonnie lassie, O,  
On thy lover at this hour, bonnie lassie, O;  
Ere yon golden orb of day  
Wake the warblers on the spray,  
From this land I must away, bonnie lassie, O.

On this last line, he suddenly hears his words mirrored, a little off tempo, but clearly “bonnie lassie, o” nonetheless. It’s Silna- of course it is- and she’s found the words, or the ones that repeat, at least, testing them in her mouth. They’re strange and foreign, but singing them, she feels some of that beautiful emotion Harry must be feeling too. Bonnie lassie, o- she repeats this, catching on to the right time to form the words. She’s not sure what the words mean, but they remind her of something lovely. She’s thinking of immiqutaillaq wheeling overhead, of tungujuqtaq skies, of pualunnguat and nunaraapiit blooming bright in aujaq. He must be singing of similar things, of beautiful things, from his Scotland.

Then farewell to Kelvin Grove, bonnie lassie, O,  
And adieu to all I love, bonnie lassie, O;  
To the river winding clear,  
To the fragrant scented brier,  
E'en to thee of all most dear, bonnie lassie, O.

He’s struck by emotion at hearing her singing along, at the beautiful intimacy of them singing together. He’s crying, just a bit, and barely notices.

When upon a foreign shore, bonnie lassie, O,  
Should I fall midst battle's roar, bonnie lassie, O;  
Then Helen, shouldst thou hear  
Of thy lover on his bier,  
To his memory shed a tear, bonnie lassie, O. 

She reaches over and brushes a tear from his face as she repeats bonnie lassie, o. He lets the last o settle on his lips, and smiles at her. She smiles in return, then inclines her head and presses her palm against his chest. Thank you.  
“Will you teach me a song? Like that?” he asks. She understands his meaning. Yes. As she begins the words of her own song, something strange and foreign, something he doesn’t understand, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been in the presence of something more beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I truly hope you enjoyed this little thing! Immiqutaillaq is arctic tern in Inuktitut. Pualunnguat is cotton grass, and nunaraapiit is Arctic wallflower. Aujaq is summer, and tungujuqtaq is blue. These words, from cursory research, seek to illustrate the beauty of the high Arctic in their true names, the ones that would have meaning and beauty to Silna <3 I'm hoping to perhaps do further research, and maybe put all of these words into her proper dialect, but I think these are about the right words.  
The reason I felt I should put these words in her language is because words used to describe the natural world are unique to each language- her blue sky is similar to Harry's of course, but it is uniquely hers, and it is important that it is hers.In the same way, her summer is not a Scottish summer- it is an Arctic summer, an aujaq. Make sense? Not sure how to express this, but yeah!  
What do you think?  
Also, I'm not sure what Silna is whittling! Any thoughts? Leave a comment!


End file.
